12.03.2011

Combat Fit

Posted by
Brooke

Combat Fit sounds
like a version of kickboxing, doesn’t it?
Punch, kick, kick, punch. Well, if you’d shown up to my
aerobics class under that assumption you would have been as wrong as I
was. It was less like kick boxing
and more like…dance aerobics. No,
in fact, I’m pretty sure it was exactly dance aerobics. A class I never would have signed up
for. A class I never would have
attended. A class I never would
have dared to stand at the back of and shake my groove thing. And yet, a class I thoroughly enjoyed.

Moroccans like to dance, to sing, to move. They are generally a life loving people
who express their love through movement and music - among other things. (I on the other hand am a life loving
person who expresses it through reading and quiet contemplation….hhmmm…) This aerobics class was packed full of
women of every age, shape, and size who just wanted to move. There were, of course, very complicated
steps that I messed up every time; but if I tried to avoid watching myself
fumble around in the room length mirror then it was all good.

I like to exercise, but to dance for joy is something
foreign to me. Ask my dear friend
Jen. When we went to church camp
the summer before our junior year of high school I spent the twice weekly dances sitting in
the foyer saying things like
“Please don’t let me ruin your fun. I’d hate to inhibit the way you choose to engage with music
in a social context!” (Nerd alert,
anyone?) She, bless her, tried to
teach me to dance by having me first tap my index finger to the music and then
move my hand and then my whole arm but without fail when it got near the
shoulder I would call the whole thing off. (Remember that Jen?
You are nice. I was lame.)

But anyway, this class was wonderful and I’ll probably go again next week. I need the week to recover!

But what else have we been up to besides going to the
gym?

Christmas shopping requires sustenance

Christmas shopping! A few weekends ago I had to work in
Marrakesh got to work in Marrakesh on a Friday and so we made a weekend out
of it. We got a screaming last
minute deal on a riad and spent the weekend combing the souks of Marrakesh for
Christmas gifts. I won’t go into
details since my family are sneakers and they would try and figure out what I
bought them, but suffice to say I have never wheeled and dealed so much in my
life. In fact, and I’m one part
proud of this one part ashamed,
I actually got kicked out of a rug shop for haggling too much. I worked the carpet seller down a
grundle, but I was blinded by my own ambition and pushed it a step too
far. As we walked away I realized
that his last offer was about 8 bucks more than my highest offer and I felt
sick to my stomach. 8 bucks for crying out loud! Keep it together Brooke. What would that have cost you? But as we were about to
turn the corner the teenage shabb who had been showing the rugs for his
shopkeeper tapped us on the shoulder and invited us back to another store. Evidently the neighboring shopkeeper
got wind that we were willing to buy but that we’d been given the boot by his
sober neighbor and sent the boy to chase us down.

The shabb brought us back to the same street and motioned for us to enter a
dark set of stairs lined with carpets.
Is this our death? Have they brought us back to kill us
for shaming their profession?
I whispered to Max “um, is this okay? Should we go in?”
And the little shabb from behind us whispered in a similar tone “Yes
you should, it’s good.”

After some additional wrangling to get the shopkeeper to
honor our previous price and some
baksheesh (tips) for the errand boy we walked away with two red/orange
Berber carpets. What’s Christmas
shopping without a little something for yourself?

On the way home we
accidently took the long way around Marrakesh back to Casablanca and got
caught in an incredible rain storm.
We had black rock hills behind us and the snow capped Atlas Mountains
behind them, the open yellow plains in front of us, and intermittent patches of
bright blue sky and black rain clouds above us. I’ve heard Morocco described as a place of paradox and
this moment was certainly illustrative.
Like a total goober I stuck my camera out the window from time to time
to catch a few photographs.

2 comments:

I always felt the same way about church/school dances. I could usually be found sitting in the corner trying to look inconspicuous as I stared awkwardly at the ground (what a pair we would have made had we known each other 15 years ago). And THEN I discovered Irish dancing. And belly dancing. And zumba. I still feel awkward at a real "dance." But give me a class, and I'm good to go. :)